


Playing With Fire

by rizlowwritessortof



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, Mark of Cain!Dean, Smut, rough-ish sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:56:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22059106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rizlowwritessortof/pseuds/rizlowwritessortof
Summary: Late Season 10 MOC!Dean smut fic that just wouldn't leave me alone :)
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Unnamed Female
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	Playing With Fire

His hand slides, rough callouses over silky soft, up the length of her thigh. He stops where the hem of her dress lies, gives a gentle squeeze. His tongue is gliding over hers, a sensuous dance, his heart pumping a little faster now. He can feel the blood surging through his veins, can feel his cock swelling, stiffening, his fingers twitching in anticipation. He keeps them still, though, a firm grip on her soft flesh, giving her the time to back out.

He can feel the moment she commits, the tension in her back relaxing as she leans into him, finally breaking free of their kiss to gasp in a breath of air. That gasp nearly undoes him, nearly destroys the tenuous control over his urges, the whispers in his head telling him to take what he wants.

She puts her hand over his, her eyes shining as she guides him beneath her skirt and between her thighs. She is wet, the silky material of her panties soaked through, and he lets out a muffled growl, cupping her sex in his hand as she spreads her legs wider for him.

“This is a bad idea,” he rumbles, his forehead resting against hers as he kneads at her.

“It’s not.”

“You’re afraid of me.”

“No. A little nervous, maybe. But you won’t hurt me.”

“It won’t be…”

“I don’t care. I won’t break.”

“And if you change your mind? What if I can’t stop, what if…”

She lays her hand over his again and presses him into her warmth. “Does it feel like I’m gonna change my mind?” She watches his face, reading him. “What do you need, baby? Tell me.”

He meets her eyes, the brilliance of his gaze stealing her breath for a moment. “Take these off.”

She nods, sliding slowly off the edge of the table and turning her back, bending to remove the black lacy barrier. She straightens, looking over her shoulder. “The dress?”

“Leave it on. For now.” He takes her upper arm in a firm grip and turns her, walking her backward until the cool surface of the wall is behind her. He bends to kiss her, and it’s different now, it’s insistent, demanding. His hand is back between her thighs, his foot nudging hers a little farther apart, and she clutches at his forearms. He raises his head, his look sharp, and taking hold of her wrists, he places them above her head, holding them crossed, his fingers keeping them in place. The size of him, the power he’s fighting to control, the knowledge that he could utterly subdue her if he chose – it all sends a shudder of arousal through her, as much as the drag of his fingers through her folds.

He presses close as he penetrates her, fingers stroking, seeking, until she makes a sound that lets him know he’s zeroed in on that spot that makes her crazy. “Mine,” he whispers into her ear, then kisses her as he sets a sharp rhythm, almost lifting her from her feet with each thrust. She can’t hold on, she has no leverage, all she can do is let him carry her along. Within seconds she’s coming, her body responding fiercely, and he groans into their kiss before lifting his head to look at her, easing off slowly as she trembles against him. He drags his fingers slowly from her, sending a shiver through her, and lifts the wet digits to his lips, humming with appreciation.

He strips off his over shirt, and her eyes are drawn to the scar on his arm, the Mark of Cain, pulsing with a life of its own. Her eyes rise to meet his, the intensity in his stare sending a little thrill of fear up her spine. “Last chance.”

She lifts her chin defiantly. “What do you need?”

His chest heaves, and then he jerks her roughly up against him, kissing her until she is dizzy and disoriented. She is limp, compliant as he yanks her dress off over her head, reaching behind her to unfasten her bra, tossing it across the room. “On the bed.”

By the time she’s crawled up and turned around, he is naked and laying beside her. “Up here. Ride.”

His words are terse, almost a growl, and she doesn’t think twice before climbing over him. His hands are on her waist, lifting her, and she reaches down to touch him, move the hot, rigid length of him into position. He slams her down, and she gasps at the rough penetration, the sting and burn even though she’s more than ready for him. “Ride,” he demands, and she does, her hands on his chest for leverage, his fingers digging into her thighs. “_Fuck, yeah_,” he grinds out, and she doesn’t want to close her eyes, wants to watch his face, but it’s all too intense. She squeezes her eyes closed and works him over until she is shaking, her muscles aching.

Before she can register that she’s too exhausted to continue, he flips her to her back and hooks one arm behind her knee, spreading her wide, spearing into her forcefully, his other hand hooked around behind her shoulder to hold her in place. She can do nothing but lay sprawled beneath him, cries jolted from her at every brutal thrust, guttural grunts and curses falling from between his clenched teeth. She looks up at him, feral and animalistic above her, and comes undone, shaking uncontrollably as her world whites out and fades away for a moment.

He’s still driving into her as she regains awareness, and then he shouts as he finally comes, and she grits her teeth to endure, wondering vaguely if he will ever stop. He’s still throbbing inside her as she feels his weight press her down, and she shudders violently, making him groan as her body contracts around him.

Neither of them can move for a time, but she finally puts a hand to his shoulder and pushes weakly, prompting him to move. She whimpers as he pulls from her, her arm dropping back down beside her as she lays there, not attempting to move any further.

She feels him leave the bed, feels the sheet thrown over her body, hears the rustle of clothing as he dresses and the door closing behind him as he leaves. She lets herself drift into an exhausted sleep for a while, wondering if he’ll even return.

He does, eventually, finding her dressed again and preparing to leave. “I didn’t know if you were coming back,” she says softly, unable to meet his eyes. Then his arms are around her, and she clings to him for a moment before his grip loosens and she steps back.

“Are you… did I…” He stares at the floor, unable to look at her.

“I’m fine. I’ll be fine.” She reaches for his hand, and he looks at her, his internal struggle clear in his eyes.

“You need to leave.” Her eyes are sparkling with tears, and she nods, looking away. “You need to stay away. This… I can’t. Next time, I could…”

“I know.” She puts a hand to his face, and he lets himself lean into her touch for a second before he lifts his head. “I love you, Dean.” The tears overflow, and she lets them fall unheeded as she looks at his face, memorizing every line. Then she turns and walks to the door and opens it, turning to take one last look at his bowed head, his burdened shoulders, before closing it behind her.

He waits for the sound of her car backing out before reaching for the whiskey on the table. This can’t go on. Decision made, he downs a swallow and begins to pack his things.


End file.
